


It Can Only Get Better

by allaboutme7



Category: Original Work
Genre: I got a 100, If there’s anything else I can tag, Original work - Freeform, Paranoid Delusions, Parinoia - Freeform, Schizophrenia, Schizophrenic character, Supernatural References, Unsupportive father, also, and I decided that after i received my grade I would post it, but here i am, cause why not, i never thought I would post an original tbh, im glad my teacher didn’t notice, okay sorry, please tell me, the show Supernatural, theres so many it’s not even funny, this was a school project, though he’s just mentioned, yay!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 10:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17681345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allaboutme7/pseuds/allaboutme7
Summary: Misha Thomas was a regular, ordinary guy. He had a mother, a father, a brother (though they don’t exactly talk). In his mind, he was ordinary.Well, except for the weird organization that has been after him since he was young.





	It Can Only Get Better

**Author's Note:**

> This was a school project! (I got a 100 by the way.) I decided to post this after I got my grade back so here it is! I tried to make it as realistic or as accurate as possible, but I’m sure I got some stuff wrong. Also, there is *so* many Supernatural references so sorry about that. As I was writing this I got into the Supernatural fandom lol.
> 
> Warnings: Paranoia, Paranoid Delusions, Needles(sorta?), I can think of anything else but if there is please tell me so I can tag it!

“Misha Thomas?” A man in a white coat, blue scrubs just barely peeking out, called out his name. His doctor, if he had to guess. Misha slowly got up and made his way toward him, feeling that everyone in the room was watching his every step. He quickly sped up his pace and went through the door to start the appointment. He didn’t want to be in here any longer than he had to be.

 

He glanced over at the doctor’s name tag, Dr. Jimmy Novak, it read. He seemed to hold himself stiffly, if Misha read his body language right. 

 

“Mr. Thomas, if you could just follow me,” Dr. Novak spun around and lead him down two hallways, left, then right, and halfway down another one until he abruptly stopped. He gestured Misha to walk inside before him and he slowly did so. The door slammed shut, startling him. He scanned the room around him, it didn’t feel safe. The four stark white walls made the room feel too closed in, making it no easy escape. 

 

“Mr. Thomas,” Dr. Novak started, sitting down on the black stool that sat in the middle of the room, “if you can sit down, I can begin to tell you your results,” he gestured to the black chair sat next to the examination table. He complied, albeit reluctantly, sitting down and leaning as far away as he could without falling over. 

 

“So what’s up, doc?” Misha’s voice was scratchy from misuse and the building anxiety that was welling up in him. Dr. Novak sighed and started flipped through the pages on his clipboard, until it seemed like he reached the one he wanted. Misha eyed it nervously.

 

“Well, to start off, you only weigh 119 pounds despite the fact you’re twenty-one and five-foot-seven, your BMI is 18.6, which is _just_ on the edge of having an underweight BMI. You have also reported some pretty worrying symptoms,” Mr. Novak stated, looking at him directly in the eye. Misha knew he shouldn’t have gave into his mother’s wish to go to the doctor, they were all untrustworthy, making big deals out of nothing. 

 

“All in all, Mr. Thomas, I’ve spoken to a few of my colleagues and I decided to recommend you to see a clinical psychologist,” Misha glared at the man. As if! It had been hard enough to leave his apartment and come here  _ once _ , let alone leave every day or once a week to see a psychologist. 

 

“No thanks, I’m good with how I am,” he scoffed. Dr. Novak shook his head and sighed like he expected that answer. 

 

“Very well, I’ll still give you the pamphlet in case you change your mind. I will return in a couple minutes,” he got up and swiftly left the room, the door shutting, softly this time. Misha was left alone in the room, waiting for Dr. Novak’s return. He was starting to feel restless, how long does it  _ take _ just to get a stupid paper he would never look at? 

Outside the door, he heard rapid shuffling and murmurs throughout the hallway. One though, in particular, caught his attention. He heard what sounded like Dr. Novak and another doctor speaking, just outside the door. It was only whispers and it sounded faint, but he caught a few words. 

 

Words like ‘hospital’, ‘freak’, and a particular clear sentence, ‘we can force him if we have to’, stood out amongst the others. It made his blood run cold. They were talking about  _ him _ , that much was obvious. They even dared to do it right outside the room he was in! He knew there had been a reason for not trusting anyone here, and this proved his point. 

 

Misha slowly and quietly got up from his seat, moving closer to the door to eavesdrop more. 

 

_ “..I just, I don’t know. I think he really needs help….It’s not right, Ellen...yeah, I know… don’t want him to....like most...a  _ freak,” Misha quickly pulled away from the door when he heard Dr. Novak say that. How could he say that? He didn’t want to hear anymore of what they were saying about him. He glared at the tiled floor as his thoughts circles back on the conversation they had been having. He didn’t need help, it was  _ them _ who needed help if they were so blatantly talking about their patients rudely behind their back. 

 

He heard footsteps walking away from the door and noticed their conversation had ended. The  door handle started opening before he realized he was still standing by the door. 

 

_ Quick, Misha, act natural, _ his inner voice told him. He did the first thing he could think of. He grabbed his phone and swiped left to open his camera, aiming toward one of the random posters on the wall, making it look like he was taking advice maybe. The door swung open and there Dr. Novak stood. Misha saw out of the corner of his eye the doctor stopped short at seeming him out of his chair. 

 

“You’re….taking interest? That’s..nice,” and only then did Misha notice what he was taking a photo of: symptoms of HIV. He felt his face warm considerably and he could have sworn he lost five years off his life. 

 

“Uhh, yeah..it’s, for a friend,” he lamely told the lie. Thankfully, Dr. Novak didn’t comment, he just sat down on the stool  again and brought out a few papers he had. Misha followed his lead, putting his phone in his pocket and sat down, listening for when the doctor would eventually tell him he could leave.

 

“Here’s the pamphlet I was talking about for seeing a clinical psychologist, it has all the details you will need, though, if you do have any questions you can call me. Most doctors don’t give their patients their phone number, so I’m trusting you with mine. If you do need help you can call me whenever. Since I am now going to be your regular doctor I would like to schedule an appointment at least for next month. I just want to see you get better,” Dr. Novak finished his tall tale of a rant. Get better? Misha was fine. And like he would actually  _ believe _ the doctor about him caring about Misha when he just heard everything he had said not even five minutes ago about him. 

 

“Right, sure,” he took the papers the Dr. Novak was handing to him and folded them to put into his back pocket. He really didn’t want to have to come here next month for another appointment but even if he didn’t agree right now, his mom would probably force him to. 

 

“I really do hope you take my advice, Misha,” first-name basis, huh? “A talk with a psychologist could really help you if you try it,” Dr. Novak searched his face for any hint of a break of expression in his face, but didn’t find any. 

 

“Okay,  _ Jimmy _ , I’ll be sure to think about it,” Misha replied. Both he and Dr. Novak knew he wasn’t going to. “Can I leave now?” The doctor sighed, once again, and waved him off. 

 

“Yes, you may leave. Make sure to stop by the check-out desk to confirm your appointment for next month,” as soon as he finished, Misha practically jumped out of his seat and ran out of the room. Finally,  _ finally _ it was over. Social situations always seem to be the longest type of thing to go through for Misha. 

 

Misha’s next appointment was on February 13th, twenty-two days from now. Great. Misha scuttled out of the medical clinic, weary of the amount of people in there and what illnesses they carry. He had drove here earlier and parked across the street, an arrangement he was now regretting, seeing how it was quickly getting dark out and he would have to cross the street.

 

Misha stopped at the intersection, pressing the pedestrian crossing button and tapping his foot absently as he waited. Out of the corner of is eye, he saw a man walking toward him. He tensed and moved forward, hoping the man would just pass him, but instead, the man stopped next to him and looked out across the street. More specifically, where Misha’s car was. 

 

Misha’s heart leapt in his throat, how did the man know? Was he after him? Had he- had he been  _ following _ him? That had to be the only explanation, how else would he know where Misha’s car was? He saw the man look at his phone and stuff it back into his pocket, annoyed. What was his game?

 

As soon as Misha saw the crosswalk light turn green for walking, he  _ bolted _ . He ran across the street as fast as he could, into the grocery store parking lot where he had parked his car. He could hear breathing behind him along with rapid footsteps. The man was chasing him. 

 

He ducked behind the closest car toward him, a Chevrolet Impala if he knew his cars. He slipped out the switchblade in his coat pocket, this wasn’t the first time Misha had been followed or stalked. He stood, crouched, ready to attack when the man came around the corner. He could still here the breathing and a few footsteps, but he thought he could also hear one or two murmuring voices. What they were saying, he couldn’t tell. 

 

He was still hunched over a minute later, nothing was happening. Maybe they were waiting for him to come out? He slowly peeked over the Impala, switchblade in hand. No one was there?

 

He spun around, looking to see if they were going to surprise attack him, but no. He caught no sight of the man or any other people, bar a few shoppers getting in and out of their cars. He breathed deeply, they must be messing with him. They could come back later, he reminded himself. Nonetheless, Misha took the temporary win for getting away and didn’t waste any time. He hurried over to his car, a Lincoln Continental, aptly named ‘Abraham’ by Misha. Sue him, he liked to name things. 

 

He closed the switchblade and swifty took his keys out, replacing the blade into his pocket. His hands were shaking so bad it took him a while to insert the key and twist it to open the door, but when he finally did, all he felt was relief. He dropped down into the driver's seat, started Abraham and immediately took off from the parking lot. Thankfully, he didn’t live very far from the clinic and managed (albeit with a bit of speeding) to make it to his apartment six minutes later. 

 

He ran into his house and slammed the door shut, probably upsetting all of his neighbors. Oh well, they deserved it. He was finally in the safety of his home, it was about time! He never really goes out anywhere because it was so dangerous for him, but  _ nooo _ his mom just had to insist on Misha going to the doctor’s office. He was a tad bit bitter. 

 

Misha took off his overcoat, fishing out his phone out and throwing it onto the couch, before collapsing on the couch himself. Today had been an exhausting day, all he wanted to do was let sleep take over and fall into blissfulness until tomorrow morning. But first, he had to make a call. 

 

Misha grabbed his phone from where he threw it and reluctantly dialed his mother’s number. It didn’t even ring for three times before she picked up. She had really been waiting for his call. She immediately started to speak and fire off questions. 

  
  


“ _ Misha! How are you, dear? Is your doctor’s appointment finally over? What did they say? And  _ why  _ did it take so long? Is something wrong? You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you? Wh-” _

 

“Mom! Calm down, jesus. I’m fine, nothing even happened. My doctor, Dr. Novak, is a major douche, though,” he interrupted her tirade of questions. He heard her sigh in relief on the other end.

 

“ _ Thank goodness you’re okay. What do you mean about your doctor though? What’d he do?” _

 

“He called me a freak, thinking I wouldn’t hear it,” Misha scoffed, “He had the gall to say I needed help, too.” 

 

“ _ Oh dear, that doesn’t sound very professional. He said you needed help though? Why, what were the results?” _ She asked, still worried for whatever reason. 

 

“Yeah, he recommended me to a psychologist. Can you believe it? There’s nothing even wrong with me, doctor’s always over-diagnose things, ugh,” Misha avoided telling her about what Dr. Novak said about his weight, he knew she would only get unnecessarily worried. The same reason why he never told her about any of his stalkers or encounters, too, funnily enough. 

 

“ _ Do you think...you should go? _ I  _ think if a professional recommend you go, you really should, sweetie,” _ his mother’s annoying concerned voice said through the phone. 

 

“No, because I’m fine and nothing is wrong. Why does everyone keep thinking something is wrong?” He sighed despondently, at this rate his mom was likely to make him go at least once, and he wasn’t very happy about it. 

 

“ _ Your father and I are worried, Misha. Even your brother is! He said you two haven’t talked in a while, he misses you..”  _ Her voice went from passionate to quiet and remorseful, which made him feel a tad guilty. Having your two sons not talk to each other must be hard, he guessed. 

 

‘Look, mom. I’ll talk to him when he apologizes. Him being worried about me doesn’t change  _ anything _ ,” he told her firmly, hoping to get through to her.

 

“ _ He doesn’t even know what he did, honey. Will you at least...think about it?”  _ He could hear the hesitation in her voice, making him feel guilty. It wasn’t his mom’s fault. 

 

“Sorry. Fine, whatever I’ll think about it sometime,” he agreed, regretting his entire life. 

 

“ _ That’s all I’m asking, Misha. Thank you. Well, I have to go. It’s awfully late and Chuck had a hard day. _ ”

 

“That’s basically every day for dad, but okay. I’ll talk to to you tomorrow, goodnight mom. Love you,” he murmured. He heard her lightly chuckle on the other end. 

 

_ “You sound tired too, go to bed. You’ll need it! Go to the psychologist, okay? At least once, please. Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow, love you too, Misha,”  _ she ended the call.

 

Misha reluctantly got up from the couch, groaning. He was  _ so _ ready to go to sleep after this exhausting mess of a day. He could look at the stupid pamphlet to please his mother tomorrow. For now, all he wanted to do was collapse on his mattress and never wake. 

 

He didn’t even bother changing, just flipped his shoes off his feet and jumped onto his bed, face-first and immediately began to fall asleep. 

  
  


Misha woke up, six hours later, to the sound of his door slamming shut and footsteps. His body jolted up, an immediate rush of adrenaline fueing him. He swiftly rolled off the bed, grabbing one of the three steel bats that he’d hidden throughout his house. He cursed when he realized in his haste to get to bed, he had left his coat, where his switchblade and phone was, in is living room. No calling the police, then. Whatever, a bat could knock a person out if he tried hard enough, then he could call 9-1-1. His grip tightened on the bat’s handle as the footsteps got louder and louder, and he began to hear whispering.

 

He hid behind his door frame, hoping whoever was there couldn’t see him. Shadows past his door, which he insinctly shied away from. He could  _ feel _ his heart beating out of his chest, feel it pound against his rib cage. The people’s voice got louder; one in particular, a man’s. What he said made Misha, if he already didn’t before, want to run for the hills. 

 

“ **MISHA** , we _know_ you’re in there. There’s _no_ use in HIDING from us,” the man’s voice had fluctuated, emphasizing certain words. Misha felt paralyzed, he didn’t even realize he was hyperventilating, either. And suddenly, multiple voices from what sounded like all throughout the house, started _shouting_. 

 

Misha instantly dropped the bat, covering his ears with his hands, pushing as hard as he could into his head in the attempt to  _ stop it  _ all. And then….

 

Everything went dark. 

  
  


-

  
  


A loud siren.

 

Flashing lights.

 

Voices.

 

_ Panic. _

 

That was the first thing Misha felt. Pure, unadulterated  _ panic _ . 

 

There were hands on him, everywhere. It felt like bugs crawling across his skin. He tried to jerk out of their grip, the attempt completely futile. Every person was talking over the other. What, he couldn’t make out. 

 

He shakily pried his eyes open and an explosion of color flooded his vision. It was all blurry, making it ten times worse than if it was clear. He couldn’t make out any faces, but he knew there were at least five people surrounding him. 

 

Where they here to take him? Hurt him? They were in his house, he realized. Is it too late to scream for help? He thrashed in their grip, he didn’t want to be taken! After all this time, he had been doing fine at protecting himself! Why was this happening now?

 

As his vision cleared some, he spotted a girl, carrying a tank towards him. Oh god, they were going to poison him, weren’t they? 

 

“Mr. Thomas! Mr. Thomas, please! Calm down, we’re here to help!” 

 

Misha grunted, not believing that for a second. 

 

“Yeah,  _ right _ . Let me go! Please! I didn’t do anything, why are you always after me?  _ PLEASE,” _ he practically screamed the last word. His chest felt tight, the anxiety and terror coiled in his stomach. They managed to pin him down, and hooked him up to the poison. This was it, he was going to die. 

 

“Naomi, get a sedative!” One yelled. Oh god. 

 

“Which one? We have  isoflurane, propofol, etomidate, ketamine, fentanyl, lorazepam and midazolam on hand!” 

 

“Uhhhh, Ketamine! He needs pain relief, sedation, and temporary memory loss. Now hurry! Before he gets loose and injuries himself further!” 

 

They were going to  _ sedate  _ him. What were they going to do to him then? He looked up at the face right above his. 

 

“Please, please. Don’t do this,” he begged her. 

 

“Sir, it’s okay. You’ll be fine, we’ll take care of you. Just calm down,” she said soothingly. Misha knew she was just acting, he could just  _ tell. _

Just then, the person from before came back with a long needle, full of the liquid he assumed was the sedative, Ketamine. He wiggled, hoping for a break in their hold, but none showed. She grabbed the needle, and he felt a sharp prick in his bicep. 

 

Surprisingly, he didn’t feel anything different. No effects, nothing yet. But as time went on - two, maybe three or four minutes (he didn’t know, he was still being poisoned too) - he started to feel his muscles relax, his whole body started to tingle. What was he doing again….? Misha didn’t know, but he did know that he was  _ very  _ tired all of a sudden. 

 

Just before he closed his eyes, he looked into the persons face above him one last time, and could have  _ sworn _ he saw her face turn inside out.

 

-

 

“Misha? Misha, come on,” a soft voice called out from the darkness. “I need you to wake up, it’s been a while, Misha?”

 

Slowly, awareness creeped up onto him. 

 

He realized the voice that had been reassuring and drawing him in was his mother’s voice, what was she doing here? Wait, where  _ was _ here?    
  


It certainly wasn’t his house, it smelled too clean and the light he could see behind his eyes, no light in his house was that bright. Another thing; what was that beeping? His mind went to the first logical conclusion, a hospital, but why was he here? His brows furrowed unconsciously. 

 

What was he doing before? He couldn’t remember…

 

He went to bed…and…....and...

 

Misha’s eyes snapped open as a rush of memories filed into his brain. The beeping, which he now definitely knew was the heart monitor now, rapidly increased. He tried to sit up, wincing at the pain that exploded in his head, and decided just to lay back down. 

 

“Misha! Oh thank god, you’re awake. It’s been hours since everything happened,” she sounded relieved, weirdly. He looked over to her, her hair was a mess and she looked tired, despite it being….he checked the clock on the wall...four PM. 

 

“Mom,” he choked out. “I-I,  _ mom _ , I was going to die. I-”

 

“Misha, it’s okay. The ambulance got there in time. Thankfully, you didn’t lose that much blood. Oh MIsha, you have no idea how scared I was. I go to your house to see if you’re okay because you weren’t answering my calls and I ended up finding you on the floor with a pool of blood around your head.  _ God _ , Misha, don’t ever do that to me again,” his mom sounded heart broken, worsening the building feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach. One thing, caught his attention, however. 

 

“Blood….?” He whispered, confused. What had those people done to him? 

 

“Apparently, you passed out from a lack of oxygen, and you hit your head on the corner of your dresser. You’ve got a concussion,” his mom frowned slightly, gesturing to the bandage around his head as she spoke. 

 

“Huh…” was the only thing he said. That was..weird. Did they just leave him after he passed out? Or...was his mom lying? He eyed her warily, before shoving down his suspiciousness of her. She was his mother, she didn’t deserve that. 

 

A soft knock to the door broke the two out of their conversation, the door opened and in walked Dr. Novak and two other doctors. Dr. Novak wasn’t in his doctor get-up, but he still carried the air around him as if he did. 

 

The random two doctors went and fiddled with his IV line that he had just noticed he was attached to. Dr. Novak strolled over next to Misha’s bed, sitting in one of the black-clad leather chairs that looked like they had been sat on way too many times. 

 

“Hey, Misha. Your mother called me earlier today, asked me to come here to talk to you since I’m now your personal doctor,” he nodded at Misha’s mom.

 

“Thanks, Jimmy. Guess I’m not getting out of that psychologist appointment now, huh?” He joked weakly. Dr. Novak just smiled bemusedly and shook his head, as did his mom. 

 

Dr. Novak dropped his expression into a more serious one. 

 

“So, what happened?” He asked. Misha eyes him warily. Did he really trust him? The answer was a definite no, but his mother was giving him the  _ look _ that he so despised.

 

.....So Misha told him.

 

-

 

Two therapy sessions, and one doctor’s appointment later (all adding up to around six weeks), Misha was officially diagnosed with Schizophrenia. Paranoid Schizophrenia, to be exact. 

 

In the beginning, he hadn’t believed it at  _ all. _ It had seemed obvious they were manipulating him somehow, but...after he had been taking the antipsychotic (God, he  _ hated _ that name. It made him sound like an insane person) called Quetiapine, his ‘hallucinations’ had started to rapidly decrease and he wasn’t constantly on edge anymore. 

 

It was a huge shock to him system to learn that, practically his whole life, had been twisted by his perception and a lot of the things he had believed to happen....never happened. After Misa had confronted him about the whole thing he thought he had witnessed at the medical center, Dr. Novak had been sure to clear up that whole issue quickly. 

 

He had been increasingly helpful to Misha throughout everything so far. He helped him make a meal plan to increase his weight that had been depleting.

 

His phone suddenly started to ring, breaking him out of his reflection of the past month or two. It was his mom. He clicked ‘answer.’ 

 

“Hey mom,” he smiled, aware she couldn’t see the action but knew she could hear it in his voice. 

 

“ _ Hi sweetie!”  _ She crooned over the phone, making him lightly roll his eyes, “ _ How are things hanging?” _

 

“Mom, please stop trying to sound cool. It doesn’t work for you,” he let out an amused laugh.

 

“ _ I’ll make it work one day,” _ she fake-promised. At least he hoped it was fake. 

  
  


They talked for around an hour around, just about miniscule things for quite a while .They were just talking, for the sake of talking. Then, his mom convinced him to call his brother. 

  
  


“ _ You know… _ ” she continued, sounding slightly nervous. “ _ Your brother...he’s worried about you. I talked to him recently, you haven’t told him about your thing ye, and….I think he deserves to know, _ ” there was a beat of silence as Misha mulled it over. Should he really...?

 

“I’ll....” he sighed, “Okay, fine. You win, I’ll call him after this,” he was really going to regret this. 

 

“ _ Really?! Oh Misha, that’s great. He’ll be so happy to talk to you!”  _ Misha could practically feel her excitement through the phone.

 

“ _ Well, I don’t want to keep him waiting. Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow, love you, bye!”  _ She ended the call abruptly, before he could say anything. 

 

Misha huffed, he should have known she would pull a move like that. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment, trying to build up the courage to call his brother. 

 

After a few minutes, Misha lifted his head and fingered through his contacts, clicking on his brother’s, and reluctantly pressed the ‘call’ button. Through the line, the phone rang. For a second, he thought no one was going to pick up. Then;

 

“ _ Hey Mishka,” _ His brother’s voice came from the line, and god, he hadn’t heard that for a while. He hadn’t heard the nickname only his brother called him in months, maybe a year. It caused all different types of emotions to swirl up inside of him. He cleared his throat, getting rid of the lump that had formed. 

 

“Hey, Gabe. I, uh just got off the phone with - with mom. We, uh, talked about, y’know. Some stuff. Anyway, how are you?” Misha let out a shaky breath, he didn’t prepare enough for this conversation. He was already babbling. 

 

“ _ I’m good, better now, that you called me. I’ve - been a bit….concerned. Mom’s been giving me some updates every now and then, but it’s different from actually hearing it from you, _ ” Gabriel said, softly. “ _ Are we okay? _ ” 

 

“Yeah, we’re okay. I, may have overreacted. And, I’m  _ really _ sorry. I just, thought you had hated me or something. I realize now it was irrational and...unwarranted,” Misha shrugged uncomfortably, even though he knew Gabriel couldn’t see him. 

 

“ _ I could never hate you, Misha. You’re my brother. What made you think that, anyway?” _

 

“It’s...a long story, very long. But I’m basic terms, i thought I heard you say I was the ‘worst thing to ever happen to you’ and you that you wished I would go away…” Misha closed his eyes, he remembered when he heard those words, the emotional, borderline  _ physical,  _ pain in his heart. After that, he had cut Gabriel completely off, only now realizing that he probably should have actually talked to his brother. It was all just a  _ huge  _ misunderstanding.

 

He heard Gabriel suck in a sharp breath on the other end of the phone.

 

“ _ What? I never said that! I would never say that. Mishka, you’re the best little brother anyone could have!”  _ Gabriel said strongly. 

 

“Heh,” Misha laughed humorlessly, “I wouldn’t say that. I mean, my own brain messed up our relationship for months. And you didn’t deserve that at all,” he admitted. 

 

“ _ You’re own brain?” _ Gabriel asked curiously. Oh right, he didn’t tell him.  _ Whoops _ .

 

“Uhhhh, well...you see, Gabe. Turns out I have this mental disorder, and it’s called Schizophrenia. You’ve probably heard about it from like, the media or something but it’s really not portrayed accurately. I’m not insane at all!” Misha rushes out all in one breath. The was a lull in conversation and he could tell Gabriel was processing what he had just revealed to him. 

 

He was really hoping his brother would understand and not freak out like his father had.  _ That  _ hadn’t been too pleasant of a conversation and he never wanted to have it again. Trying to convince your own father you weren’t going to kill him in his sleep because  _ no dad, I’m not a psychopath! I’m schizophrenic _ and him shouting  _ well aren’t they basically the same thing? _ had definitely taken a toll on his mental health. Luckily, his mom, bless her, saved him and sent Misha off, tell him that she would have a long, long conversation with his father. 

 

Just another reason to love her so much, he supposed. 

 

He broke out of his thoughts when he heard Gabriel sigh and clear his throat.

 

“ _ Honestly, I should have expected it. You’ve always been a weird kid _ .” 

 

Despite himself, Misha snorted. It was so like his brother to say some stupid, bull crap comment like he just had. 

 

“I missed you and you’re ridiculousness. Jerk,” he responded, grinning widely. 

 

“ _ Eejit,”  _ Gabriel responded cheekily, laughing when Misha started groaning at the age-old Irish insult. 

 

“ _ Hey, Mishka? You know I’ll always forgive you, right? Plus, that wasn’t even your fault. It’s not your fault, okay? You can’t control it,” _ Gabriel said, surprising him with the graveness in which he spoke. 

 

“Yeah, but dad-“ He didn’t even get four words in before his older brother interrupted him.

 

“ _ Ah ah ah _ ,” he tsked, “ _ Not. Your. Fault. Dad’s bein’ a close-minded fool. He’ll come around eventually, trust me. _ ” Misha hummed doubtfully. 

 

“If you say so,” he shrugged. 

 

“ _ How are you holding up, by the way? I imagine it’s been….tough, to say the least,” _ Gabriel asked. 

 

“Yeah, it’s been pretty different. I still...see and hear things, sometimes. But it had decreased a lot. And when I do, it’s a lot different, I’m able to stay pretty calm, thankfully. My doctor say that’s because of the medication I’m taking,” he admitted.  

 

“ _ That sounds good, so far,”  _ Gabriel replied.

 

“Yeah. From what I’ve read, I don’t think i’m going to tell people I’m….schizophrenic. I don’t feel like too much of a burden anymore, I’m not paranoid that people are out to get me, I can start trusting people again. I don’t want to give people to stop trusting me  _ now _ ,” Misha cleared his throat, clearing the lump that had formed without him noticing. 

 

“ _ Yeah,” _ Gabriel said softly, he clearly wasn’t expecting him to say that. “ _ It can only get better.” _

 

“Yeah?” Misha asked, hopefully. He needed the reassurance.

 

“ _ Yeah _ .” 

 

MIsha let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, clutching the phone life a lifeline. 

 

It can only get better. 

 


End file.
